Lost in Silver Eyes

A/N: Inspired by E.A. Poe! I'm not really used to writing short stories or in the First Person P.O.V. so I'd like a lot of suggestions and advice please ^.^ (which also explains why the story suddenly shifts to third person.)    Okay, I honestly don't know if this is a short story or a prologue to a longer one :/. My second finished short story here! Please tear it apart :)

* * *

I know he will kill me, but I needed some sunlight now and then.

Besides the grief I wanted to relieve myself of from the gloomy world of 'inside', I wanted to free myself of the darkness that he knew that was growing in me. It scares me, to be honest. Something else takes over when I go too far.

* * *

It was a tempting and beautiful sunny day outside that I just couldn't resist walking out the door. The ever-blue sky stretching towards the heavens, the trees, the buildings, the people having fun--everything was in full and vibrant colors. It was a painting of pure happiness and a spectrum of life that I had yet to discover. I sneaked out of the office with my sandwich and made my way to the park.

Passing by a boutique with its large glass windows, I couldn't help but glance at my own reflection: a sight I usually didn't like seeing. I saw my black eyes glistening like mirrors, my pale skin looking almost papery in the sunlight, my long wavy auburn hair swept to my right shoulder and my dark blue and black formal wear. I paused for a while, staring at myself. "Beautiful," he told me. "You're beautiful." I shut my eyes as if trying to turn away from the memory. There was nothing beautiful in lusterless eyes that saw naught.

I opened my eyes then decided to push the thought away. I inhaled the fresh air and loved the warmth of the sun on my skin as a genuine smile grew on my lips, for the first time in a long time. I sat on the bench and began consuming my lunch as I admired the light all around me. A sunbeam fell on my opened palm. If I could just take a little piece of this warmth into my pocket to keep forever, I wouldn't mind being trapped inside anymore.

"Butterflies really are perplexing creatures, are they not?" A male voice beside me said.

"They spend months in their cocoons then when they finally come out to show those wings, they live for only a day before dying."

As I raised a brow, I turned and saw a young man. He held his black coat in his arms, revealing his white polo. He had sandy blond hair and slightly tanned skin; his eyes I couldn't see yet since they were still attracted to the fluttering blue insect resting on a blood red rose. When he finally turned to me after the butterfly had taken flight, I saw his light gray eyes: so light they almost looked white with a silver lining. My pulse quickened. No…

"Ah, I understand," I said as I blinked at him. "Why cause all the trouble for that sort of vanity, is it?"

He smiled at me with perfectly white teeth. I quickly tore my gaze from his smile and looked down. I cannot let my sickness take over. Not to a stranger…

"Yes, that sort of vanity is the exact and inevitable flaw of humans," I heard him reply.

"How very true," I commented as my gaze kept moving from object to object. "We sacrifice so much for something so materialistic."

"Then, madame, why do you think it is so?"

"Like a caterpillar changing to a butterfly, human vanity is affixed in the laws of nature."

"But won't a selfless people build a more stable society and economy?"

"We acknowledge that option of selflessness, though—because another gift of Man is his freedom—we choose to ignore that."

"Why do you think so?"

"Is this a survey for human philosophy, sir?" I turned to him again, surprised to see him already staring.

"It is not a survey. It is just a conversation between strangers." Good Lord, those eyes! My stomach burned with a horrible desire.

". . . There is a born selfishness in everyone, I suppose." I looked away again, cursing myself inside. His eyes, his eyes, his eyes!

"That didn't sound as kind, why?"

"If you look at it closely, it's true," I said nonchalantly. "We are taught to walk: so we can walk by ourselves. We are sent to school: to learn to supply for ourselves later on."

"Explain charity, then"

"Locke's essay on human understanding."

"Then the more it is invalid. With this kind of society, what will the next generation turn out to be?" He gave a small pause. "Not all those surrounded by the selfless become selfless: some turn out spoiled."

"That is why it is only called an essay."

"You mark your previous answer incorrect then."

"To err is human." I looked into his eyes again, somehow unafraid

"Beep. Two lives left." He smiled and his silver eyes glistened from patches of sunlight that fell from the trees. Turn away, turn away, TURN AWAY! My poor conscience was, of course, ignored. I stared into those silver eyes. I stared…and stared I did. My lips trembled and my eye twitched. My pulse quickening, pumping more blood than it should.

Before I could lose myself any further to the man's eyes, my phone suddenly rang. Jumping a little in my seat from the sudden noise, I sheepishly excused myself and checked my phone. It's John, my secretary. Shoot.

"John," I said sternly.

"Miss Clara, your next patient is waiting," John said with the slightest trace of annoyance in his voice. It took me a moment to reply. I was still getting used to my new name. "Uh..."

"Is everything alright? You seem pale," the stranger beside me said as he goes just a little bit closer to me. I turned and his eyes immediately greeted me again. Oh, those silver heavens! John's voice over the phone suddenly mixed with all the other noises out here, he was fading from my consciousness. Those eyes...seem so ancient...magnetic as if pulling me from this hell into the unknown utopian—.

"ELISE!" John suddenly yelled in the phone, through my ears and knocking my brain back into reality. With much effort, I broke away from the stranger's gaze and looked down to whisper into my phone. My hands were trembling and my breath was shaky when I spoke to him.

"J-john?" I hear him sigh.

"Elise," he said softly. "Come back to the clinic, your patient is waiting for you."

"M-my patient..." I mumbled as if trying to remember something long forgotten.

"Yes. Now stand." John's silky and soothing voice filled my mind with fuzzy thoughts, relaxing me. Almost mechanically, I did what I was told.

"And walk straight back into the clinic," he continued hypnotically. I did just that.

"Don't look back," he said in a low gentle whisper, sending unwanted but exciting chills down my spine. I did just that.

If the stranger did or said anything, I wasn't aware of it. John's voice was luring me to safety. I kept a straight stare into empty space as I made my way to the clinic.

John continued talking over the phone in his mesmerizing voice, making sure I don't get distracted by anything else until I arrived at the door.

He stood from his seat the second I stepped in. Feeling almost guilty, I looked at him: his familiar and handsome features, his brown hair was neatly done, his dark blue eyes reflecting the worry I caused.My office's little lounge was nothing much but John's desk, a few beige couches for a waiting area, a floor lamp and white washed walls. The office was directly below our house—the small rental apartment above. It was the best we could manage after moving here just a month ago. He hastily made his way to me after a second.

"Oh Elise I was so worried—" he began to raise his hands as if to embrace me but I looked down and took a little step back.

A sudden silence grew between us. I looked up and met his eyes. Unlike the stranger's, I wasn't so attracted to his...maybe because John's eyes held something more than beauty, it was pain. He dropped my gaze.

"I told you not to leave my side," he said in a whisper that almost seemed threatening. "I told you that you can't go on alone when you know things could go wrong."

I bit my lip and decided to lie to him.

"Nothing happened, I assure you, John," I said aside.

"Then why did it seem like you were in trance when I called? Why didn't you respond immediately?" He began to speak with a sort of flare in his voice. I shut my eyes tight from irritation.

"The point is, it's over now, right?" I retort. "I'm here and I'm fine, thank you."

His countenance turned stern. His eyes seemed to grow like an abyss about to swallow me. But I wasn't afraid.

"So something did happen. What?"

I never knew non-practicing lawyers could come out so clingy at times.

"Nothing happened," I said as steadily as I could.

"Tell me!" he said starting to get furious. "It might be serious. Your monomania could strike any moment. Especially when you're alone..."

I couldn't meet his eyes but I sighed heavily in response to that. "For the last time, I'm telling you that I'm fine." I caught his eye as I side stepped and made my way to the main clinic. "Mr. Higgins will be mad again."

I know what you’re thinking. No. John is not my husband or my brother.

It was Mr. Higgins again and his strange outbursts about cats. He was a big fellow, tall and had a pot belly. He's been my patient for quite sometime even before we moved here. Our conversation drags on and on about those 'horrible furred demons from hell' to the point of his actually opening up to me about the loneliness of his disorder....of which I had heard of already.

"I understand," I replied to him, nodding and fidgeting with my ball pen.

"No you don't."

"Excuse me?" I dropped my pen and started caressing my own hands.

"You psychiatrists just understand the condition: how it is caused, treated and prevented. You know empathy but you don't really understand the true feeling of having this sort of insanity!"

I just looked at him then looked away, chuckling evilly. "Mr. Higgins, this is but the slightest taste of insanity. I was sick too."

"Bah! A real mental sickness?"

“Yes, Mr. Higgins, but I get to control it now and then. Thanks to friends,” I chuckled at him. I grinned then looked away to suddenly pinch my paper weight. "You were a psych grad too, weren't you? Haven't you noticed that I can't stand concentrating on one thing entirely? That I try to always busy myself? Or that I can't look at you in the eye but for a mere glance?"

At this point, he suddenly started to look scared. He hastily stood up.

"Oh, just remember that we are all designed for hate as well, so cats count as one of your own!" I smiled at him.

"Thank you, Miss Ghastmoore," he muttered then he slowly made his way out of my office.

I smiled to myself and started tossing a silver coin while waiting for the next patient. I watched it: up and down, up then down again. Silver. The man on the bench’s eyes were silver. My gaze never left the coin as it flew and fell back to my grasp. Silver. Not as beautiful as gold but not so bad as bronze. Silver…a mist. A mystery, a question, an uncertainty. Some sparkling gray of—

"Mr. Roger Wells," John said as he peeked though the door, snapping me back from my haze.

"Ah, yes," I muttered, losing concentration and thus, failing to catch the silver coin. It rolled just a little bit in front of my desk. "Bring him in." I didn't even glance up at John when I said so. I stared at the coin. A second passed.

"Miss Ghastmoore?" A voice that seemed so distant said. I returned from reverie. I blinked, eyes still fixed on the coin.

"Oh, yes, Mr. Wells," I said as I bent down to finally retrieve my coin that I realized was right in front of two loafers. I reached for the coin. "I apologize; my mind has run away with..." I looked up and saw that it was him again. My eyes dilated and I shot to my feet, trying to concentrate on something else other than his eyes. Oh god, don’t do this to me!

"It's you again, Miss!" he flashed those perfect teeth.

I stared into his eyes.

I heard a third party clear her throat as another second of my silence passed. To the man’s right was a young woman with a pretty but solemn face, blue eyes, high nose and firm demeanor. Remembering my manners, I asked them to sit as they explained to me the problem, my eyes darting from place to place slowly.

Mr. Wells started telling me his own problems. He admits that he randomly spurts out poetry and literary references, which marked a sudden change in him. He said he wasn’t such a big fan of literature and didn’t read as much. The woman didn’t say anything but had a watchful eye on me. But I didn’t mind because I had other things to concentrate on.

God forgive me. I stared into his eyes again

I listened and tried to lessen eye contact though it was hard. What is the use beauty if not to admire?! Like some humanoid machine, I asked all my usual introductory questions. How often does this occur? How does it feel in the state? Are you conscious of it, if not mentioned by others? He answered all of them quite elaborately. I listened, though the words escaped my mind the second I had finished deducing what to tell him next. I looked intently, falling deeper in the illusions of his silver eyes beckoning me to escape. Escape from all this confusion of—.

“Yes, I see it is a psychological case, sir,” I said. I gave him the advice of monitoring his actions to find out the specific places he would have his outbursts (as he only mentioned that he would have them in the office and at home) I asked them to come back in a week or if anything else happens. It was an easy phrase to say. I’d said it a million times, I think.

I could sense that the woman was frowning at my gander at her boss, but I paid less attention to that. The eyes were more important at the moment. Mr. Wells thanked me and shook my hand before they both left me. At the door, he glanced at me and I saw that exciting twinkle in his eyes. Eyes…

I needed to see those eyes again...

* * *

Mr. Wells was my last patient as it was really a slow day. John and I retired to the apartment upstairs. It was as small as my office, cozy and somehow had a desolate air around it with its dark green wallpaper, our wooden furniture looking more than forty years old and the bedroom smelling like dying lavenders (why it smelled like that, neither of us knew.) We hadn’t talked since he fetched me from my thoughts after lunch. Whenever he asked me something, I only spoke with single word answers. Such was the atmosphere when I was mad or in a trance. Thanks to the fight earlier, he must’ve thought the former.

Later, when he was sitting on the couch and I on the opposite chair, staring at the ceiling with thoughts still consumed by the silver eyes, he spoke surprisingly meek.

“Early dinner?” he asked.

“No,” I answered, not caring to even sound interested.

He paused.

“So…do you know any good movies we can watch tonight?”

“No.”

“Want coffee?”

“No.”

“But you want something.”

“Yes.” Yes, yes YES….!

“Will you tell me what it is?”

“No.”

“Okay, you are just playing with me now!” he said. I heard the playfulness in his voice.

“Am not in the mood,” I said as I got up and made my way to the bedroom to be alone.

Quite to my ignorance of anything else around me, I’d forgotten to lock the door. I was lying on my side of the bed, staring at the big wall clock that hung on the wall parallel to me. It ticked with seemingly increasing sound. Its silver second hand crawling towards and around the numbers was mesmerizing me again. Eyes. Eyes. Eyes. I wouldn’t want any other treasure than those eyes! Silver… my new favorite color! Black and white and something more to make the perfection! Truth and lies and what could the other one be? Beauty! Impossible, that wasn’t a color. Silver… the keys of heaven! Or was it gold? I can’t remember, but it’s all the same of giving me all that liberation!

I want those eyes.

John had entered the room, closed the door behind him and switched off the lights, bathing my illusions in a deeper chasm of enchantment. Surely the silver would be seen even in the dark! It would shine! It would glow! I must have those eyes…

“Elise,” John muttered behind me, his breath caressing my nape. “You can tell me if something’s bothering you, alright?” He put his hand on my arm and pulled me into a warm hug.

I hadn’t responded. I hadn’t truly heard his voice or felt his touch.

He started talking in a soft tone like maddening music to my horrible want for the silver spectrums of a stranger. His voice tended the flame in me, though if I were in my right mind, I would’ve known he wanted to inspire the opposite.

It must’ve been hours of my staring into darkness like that for the stars were out already. John was silent beside me, his breathing deep and calm while his arm was still clutching my waist protectively. Was I staring or was I asleep, I didn’t know. If I was dreaming, I dreamt of the eyes. Really, what else is there to dream about?!

Now that I see the stars from the window, I see the millions of little eyes twinkling like what I had seen before he left. I knew I wanted those eyes. My mind spinning, all I could see were sliver eyes!

I gently removed John’s grip on me and walked to the window. I stared and called out to the stars. “What am I to do?” I said aloud to the stars that seemed to glow more and more, blinding me with the silver illusion of the eyes. I loved mysteries; these eyes were one and I didn’t want it unsolved.

Then it hit me.

* * * * * *

[General P.O.V.]

 John’s closed eyelids rippled with the motion of his irises underneath. His breath was suddenly rapid and he began to sweat despite how chilly that morning was. He turned his head from side to side and his fist started clutching in somewhat of a repressing gesture. In another fit, he suddenly turned to his side and fell face first to the cold floor below him, slapping him awake from that nightmare. He looked around as he panted and wiped the trace of perspiration from his brow. He shakily steadied himself on his arms and glanced up the bed again. ‘Where is she?’ he thought. “Elise?”

“Elise?” his voice sounded his thoughts. The echo of his voice was the only answer he received.

“Elise?” he tried a little louder as he got up to his feet. He looked around their room with eyes still groggy.

When he managed to rub the sleep off his eyes, the panic soon returned to his face as he saw the room. The iron drawers that kept the patients’ files were opened and the papers were scattered around the room like a hurricane came that night.

John’s pulse quickened. He rushed to the drawers and clawed his way around the room, collecting the files and quickly scanning them. He was sure there would be one missing, though he wanted to convince himself of the contrary.

To his terror, it wasn’t there. And neither was the carving knife.

With a grunt, he stuffed all the papers in the fireplace and set it aflame. He slipped into his boots and long black coat then putting on the black and silver fedora with unbelievable grace and swiftness. He took his wallet, and their emergency bag, his pulse still quickening when he sped to the door.

The next thing was his stifled scream when he passed by the office down stairs.

Elise was crouched behind her desk, her back to John and her night white nightdress spattered with red and the carving knife beside her foot. She was sobbing when John made his way to her.

“J-john,” she muttered in between sniffles. “I…I’m sorry.”

“Shush,” he said surprisingly calm, wiping her bloodied face and covering her in her own coat. “What happened?”

Her black eyes were bloodshot and her tears mixed with the blood all over her face made her look like she was crying paint. She couldn’t meet his eyes, she bit her lip. Her hands looked like they were bathed in blood, shaking as it clutched into fists. She just shook her head helplessly at him.

“Elise, you need to let that go,” he said sternly. He knew from her demeanor that she had killed the Wells man. “We might be caught this time and there won’t be enough time to run like before.”

From the distance, they could hear the police cars, sirens and the cop’s voice over the megaphone was blaring at their door. The chief signaled the others to surround the area.

“Elise Ghastmoore and John Van Cloud, come out,” the chief said from outside. “This is the police. Both of you are charged for murder and false identification.”

The chief brought around twenty men with him, all aiming for the door. John held Elise to his chest and fired two warning shots out the window.

“Come out!” the chief yelled again.

“Elise, we need to run,” John said as he looked down at her.

The girl dreaded how her mind twisted now. She was so tired of running. This was the fifth murder. Why can’t it just all end and be like before?

John helped her to her feet though she felt heavier than she was, weighed down by guilt and regret. He looked at her with reassuring dark blue eyes that never held fear of her condition. She sighed, brought her fists together and opened her fingers.

Out rolled two little jelly-like orbs that were silver on one side.